


Remember, remember the fifth of November

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bonfire Night, F/M, Fireworks, Fluff, Hogwarts AU, Rivals to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which November fifth plays out rather differently from Clarke's expectations. Another Hogwarts AU no one asked for.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 122





	Remember, remember the fifth of November

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to an almost-seasonal Hogwarts AU set on November fifth. Because apparently that's tell your crush you like them day as well as bonfire night. Who knew?
> 
> Happy reading!

Clarke presumes it's a joke, at first. Of course she does. Bellamy Blake doesn't have a crush on her – the mere idea is preposterous. And in her experience, Hogwarts on November fifth is full of pranks. Sure, most of the pranks involve Weasley's Wizard Wheezes fireworks rather than declarations of love, but it doesn't seem like a great leap of imagination.

"Great. You're telling me you have a crush on me. Good joke. Very funny." She mutters, trying to stride past him down the hallway.

"Clarke, please." He steps in front of her, despite her attempts to dodge him. "I'm serious. It's – it's true. This is tell your crush you like them day. It's a muggle thing."

She snorts. "No, Bellamy. This is bonfire night and you're an ass. Goodbye."

She escapes, then. She escapes and half-jogs the length of the corridor.

…...

The doubts start to creep in during Transfiguration, first period.

"Can you believe John has a crush on me?" Emori asks, excited.

Clarke nods tiredly at her roommate because actually, _yes_ , she can believe that. She thinks it's pretty obvious, really.

"I can't believe he just walked right up to me at breakfast and said it."

Again, Clarke can believe that. It seems like a thing John Murphy would do. But Emori really is very happy, so she keeps on nodding.

"He said he'd been trying to get up the courage to tell me for ages. But today is tell your crush you like them day, so he decided to just go for it."

"Tell your crush you like them day?" Clarke asks, trying for a casual tone and failing miserably.

"Yeah. Apparently it's a muggle thing."

Clarke swallows stickily. It doesn't mean anything, she tells herself. The day could be real but Bellamy's crush could still be fake. In fact, she figures that's the most likely explanation of all – that he took advantage of a real social trend to make his prank more convincing. That seems like the kind of thing he would do, doesn't it?

She sure hopes so. Otherwise she might have made a horrendous misjudgement.

…...

It gets worse.

Raven pulls Shaw in for a kiss in the Great Hall at lunch time. Apparently that passes for telling him she has a crush on him, in her book. Bryan and Miller suddenly seem to be going everywhere hand in hand. Monroe whispers something to Harper outside Herbology, then sprints off in a fluster.

This tell your crush you like them day must be real, it seems.

Clarke wonders how she never heard of it before. She fears it might make her implicitly one of those intolerant out-of-touch Slytherin purebloods, and she's spent her whole life trying to shake off that image and educate herself about the muggle world. She supposes this day is the kind of thing that muggles talk about on their social media, and that maybe she's a bit behind the times for still clinging to owl post and enchanted memos.

She spends a lot of time concentrating on thoughts like that. Because as long as she's worrying about muggle culture, she's not dwelling on the question of whether Bellamy was joking after all.

…...

He wasn't. She doesn't fully believe it until late that afternoon, when she drops her books on the way to her last lesson of the day.

She hates History of Magic at the best of times. There's too much writing, and not enough practical usefulness for her tastes. She has no patience for things that won't heal anyone or save the world – and she's pretty sure a bunch of facts about goblin rebellions won't save the world.

But she hates it even more, in this moment, as papers go flying and ink is spilled. She sort of wants to just sit on the stairs and cry, really. It's not been the best day of her life.

All at once, Bellamy is there picking up her books. And not just picking them up, but siphoning off the ink and restacking her loose papers and being an all-round helpful sort of a guy.

Huh. She's not used to that.

"What are you doing?" She asks bluntly. Another girl might thank him, but she's had a stressful day and her manners appear to be malfunctioning.

"Trying to show you I'm not an ass." He mutters, visibly uncomfortable, handing her last stray textbook back to her.

She swallows. This is unexpected.

"I know you're not an ass." She says, because he isn't, not really. Sure, he can be annoying, but he doesn't hurt people or anything, to the best of her knowledge.

"That's not what you said this morning."

"I know." She swallows. "You took me by surprise."

He nods stiffly, jaw clenched. The awkwardness thickens between them like a potion gone terribly wrong.

"Well thanks for helping me out." She says with false brightness. "I guess we should head to History of Magic."

"You don't sound happy about it." He points out.

"I'm not. I hate it."

He's silent. His jaw looks tenser than ever. She remembers, too late, that it's far and away his best subject.

"I mean, it's just not my thing." She corrects herself, annoyed at her own incompetence. She could swear she's usually more functional than this. "I know you like it though. And that's fine. You can like what you want."

He snorts. They walk to History of Magic side-by-side in frosty silence. Cold custard – that's what it reminds her of, even more than any kind of curdled potion. Cold, sad, stodgy custard.

She's annoyed with herself. Bellamy's a decent guy, for an arrogant cocky Gryffindor. And even if she doesn't personally like him much, doesn't think he has many redeeming qualities beyond basic decency and a pretty face, there's no reason for her to go around upsetting him. Should she say something? Some kind of peace gesture or apology? Or should she just pretend that this morning never happened?

"You coming to the fireworks tonight?" He asks, just outside the door.

She freezes. Every year Gryffindor put on a display of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes indoor fireworks in their common room. The teachers know all about it, but pretend not to. And Clarke doesn't often go – she's more one for staying in and working on her potions homework. Particularly since she got older, and it has become mostly a night of watching her friends hook up. One time she kissed Lexa, and that was worthwhile, but the fireworks themselves aren't much to write home about.

But they're here now. They're on the threshold of History of Magic. And she needs to make a snap decision, needs to give an answer to this guy she's done nothing but hurt so far today.

"Yeah." She says, impulsive for once in her life. "I am. Hopefully see you there?"

He blinks, visibly surprised. "Yeah. We could hang out." He hedges.

She nods. She's not sure whether that was a _hang out_ suggestion that had anything to do with crushes, or whether it was more of a peace gesture. But either way, it's only one evening of her life. What's the worst that can happen?

…...

The worst that can happen is that Bellamy Blake can be a total sweetheart, it turns out.

And the most terrible thing of all? He doesn't even make a big deal of it. He doesn't meet her at the door and overwhelm her with displays of romance, doesn't even seem to be acting like this is a date at all. He just hangs out with her, is kind and warm, as if it comes perfectly naturally to him.

That makes it all the more dangerous, she fears.

It's the little things. It's the way he happens to ask if she wants another Butterbeer when he goes to fetch one for himself, the way he says he mustn't bore her and waves over Murphy and Emori to join the conversation. Because she wasn't bored at all, actually. She was enjoying listening to him talk about how they set up the fireworks. But there's something sweet and surprisingly self-effacing about the way he presumes she wants wider company.

Then again, maybe it's not such a surprising assumption, after she said what she said this morning.

The conversation with Murphy and Emori is not unpleasant – although the way they keep breaking off to kiss each other is pretty uncomfortable, given what happened between Clarke and Bellamy this morning. But Clarke surprises herself by wanting to continue that conversation she was having with Bellamy alone, actually. She gets the feeling that it might be rewarding to get to know him better. She can't believe that she's been at school with him five years and never before noticed the warmth that lies beneath his sharp sense of humour and cocky attitude.

Maybe that's because she didn't _want_ to notice it, a tiny voice in her mind whispers. Maybe it's because she was already aware he was good looking, and she knew that good looking _and_ kind would be a dangerous combination for her heart.

She gathers her courage, prepares to make a move. Not a move in the sense of seduction, but a move in the sense of progress.

"Come on. Let's go get closer before they set off the fireworks." She suggests, tugging at his arm.

"It's not a big room, Clarke. You'll see them from here." Murphy grumbles.

"I want to see them up close." Clarke grumbles.

Bellamy doesn't argue. He simply gestures to her to start picking her way through the crowd, and he follows close behind.

Clarke grabs another Butterbeer on the way past a table and offers one to Bellamy because really, she doesn't see why chivalry should only go one way. And then they find a quiet corner to stand in, and sip their drinks in awkward silence.

No. This is silly. They can do better than this.

"I'm sorry I was rude about History of Magic earlier." She starts cautiously, because that seems easier than saying she was rude about _him_.

He shrugs, gives half a smirk, and takes a sip of his drink. It's an odd reaction, she thinks. She's not clear on what it really means.

"I guess I don't see how you get so excited about it. I find it pretty slow and not that useful." She offers, hoping to start a conversation. She seems to remember they're good at conversations built on arguments, so this should be a smart move, she hopes.

He shrugs again, but he's no longer smirking. He looks a bit annoyed, really. "It is useful. Just not in the way you want to see. I guess it makes sense that I see the use in it more than you do."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean – I'm a muggle born. Poor in the muggle world, nobody in the wizarding world. So it really matters to me. I like to learn about our history so I can see how Voldemort was defeated and the wizarding world became safe for people like me and my sister. And things like the goblin rebellions are part of that, however dry they might seem. It's only by looking back at the long history of intolerance and how much progress we've made and still have to make that we can get to a point where wizarding Britain is truly tolerant."

Clarke blinks at him, stunned. It's not his intelligence that's stunning her, or his capacity for persuasive speaking. It's just that she's never heard him talk about anything truly _serious_ for so long at a stretch before, never heard him sound passionate about a cause. She's used to hearing his wit exercised on the Quidditch pitch against the referee, or in the classroom to debate with her or a professor. This is new.

She's left stunned by her own stupidity, too. She considers herself a tolerant person, who wants to make wizarding Britain a better place. But she never stopped to contemplate how the goblin rebellions might be part of that story. And she's very aware of her privilege, but it simply hadn't occurred to her that it was obscuring her vision here.

She's disappointed in herself.

"I didn't think of it like that." She mutters quietly. "Sorry. You're right."

"No hard feelings." He nudges her slightly with an elbow. "And you're right. The lessons really are dull sometimes."

She tries for a laugh, but she can't quite manage it. Twelve hours ago she was so certain she was the good guy, here. She was convinced that Bellamy was an ass, and that she had her head together, and that she was the one with the moral high ground.

How the tables have turned.

Another friendly elbow nudge. "Clarke? We're good. Really." He swallows loudly. "That's actually – that's one of the things I really like about you. That you're great to have a debate with but then you know how to admit when you're wrong."

She tries for a tentative grin. "You mean you like to argue with me."

He snorts out a brief laugh. "Yeah. Pretty much."

She considers that for a moment. She reflects on six years of animosity, but also on a few things she didn't consider earlier. The idea that perhaps they were always _rivals_ more than truly enemies. That there was an intellectual respect underpinning their debates, that they never bickered about anything that hit below the belt. And yeah, sure, there have been plenty of days when she wasn't in the mood for a debate and Bellamy's nitpicking has ruined her mood.

But there have been other days when his teasing wit has made her smile, too.

"I like to argue with you some of the time." She says, in the end. That's both honest and hopefully something of a peace gesture.

He grins. "What happened to me being an ass?"

"You're growing on me."

She expects him to laugh at that, or at the very least flash her a smirk. That seems to be how he responds to teasing compliments, as a general rule. But he takes her by surprise with a solemn frown and his eyes fixed on the floor.

"I'm trying. I'm sorry – I'm not trying to pressure you into anything. I just hated to think that you really did think I was an ass."

"I mostly thought that because I thought you were playing a prank on me." She recalls. "What possessed you to just – just say it like that?"

He snorts, a hollow, humourless sound. "A lot of the guys in my dorm were doing it. Miller decided he wanted to tell Bryan, Shaw was going to tell Raven but she got there first. And then it became a Gryffindor thing, Monroe was going for it as well. So they were trying to talk me into joining in and I guess – I don't know. I thought you felt the same way. I thought you were arguing for the same reasons I was. I didn't realise you'd be so... surprised."

Now it's her turn to nudge him gently with her elbow. He looks like he needs it, she thinks – a little cheerful, friendly physical contact.

"Sorry. I really was surprised. I probably shouldn't have called you an ass." She swallows slowly. "I'm getting over the surprise now."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Silence falls. Around them people talk excitedly, whispering that the fireworks are about to begin. Clarke stares into her Butterbeer, gathers her courage. She's a brave young woman – she can do this.

"It could be good to get to know each other better." She suggests simply.

"We've known each other for five years." Bellamy teases.

"Yeah. But I mean – get to know this side of each other. Get to know each other outside of being rivals in class and arguing all the damn time."

"I like arguing with you." He reminds her, half defensive, half joking.

She gives up. Maybe that sounded silly. Maybe she's burnt her bridges, with that comment about him being an ass and with that ignorance about the importance of History of Magic. Maybe -

"We could hang out more." Bellamy suggests, warm. "I'd like that. We can debate about goblin rebellions."

Clarke nods eagerly. "Yeah. And, you know, keep it casual?"

To her surprise, Bellamy gives an easy laugh. "Definitely. I promise not to confess my undying love to you any time soon. If ever you change your mind on that score, it's on you to let me know, Princess."

She smiles a relieved smile. She enjoys Bellamy's company, as of this evening, and she really would like to get to know him better, but she's glad to hear she won't be accosted on the way to Transfiguration with any more unwelcome revelations.

They start here and now, with getting to know each other as the evening draws on. They discuss books and Butterbeer, chocolate and Charms. And they watch the fireworks together, and Bellamy is only a little insufferable about how proud he is of helping to set them up.

All in all, Clarke thinks, this whole _tell your crush you like them_ day is not such a terrible idea. Sure, it took her by surprise. But at least she appears to have gained a new friend from the experience.

**Two years later**

Bellamy sighs a long sigh as he rolls out of bed. He's got a big day ahead. It's November fifth, which means the annual Gryffindor indoor fireworks display on top of his regular Head Boy duties.

It'll be busy, but he'll get it done. Besides which, he knows the Head Girl will be more than willing to pick up the slack if he's not up to much today. There are advantages to having his best friend as his opposite number, he thinks with a smile.

Damn it. There he goes again – smiling every time he so much as thinks of Clarke.

He's got it bad. And his crush on her has only grown in the last couple of years, since they've become such good friends. Now that they're openly acknowledged best friends as well as close colleagues, they spend a huge amount of time together. And that gives him far too many opportunities to fall for her further. He's not just got a crush on her pretty face or sharp attitude, these days. He's seen far too much evidence of her strong moral compass and genuine kindness, and has heard far too often her delighted laugh.

In fact, he thinks he might be in love with her. He didn't used to believe in teenagers falling in love, when he looked at the way Miller talked about Bryan or Shaw talked about Raven. But he thinks he gets it now.

Whatever. It's fine. He gets to have her in his life as his best friend, and that's a hell of a lot better than nothing.

He tells himself that every morning, and it never gets any easier. Sighing another long sigh, he pulls on his clothes and prepares to face the day.

…...

It's a decent day, as days go. There's Potions with Clarke first thing, then a free period in the library with her. It could be worse.

"You sure you don't need to be in the common room right now?" She asks as they sit down, for perhaps the fourth time this morning.

"I'm telling you, everything's under control. I'll help you do the patrol schedule then I'll head over and see if they need any help."

"Or I could do the patrol schedule for you, just this once, and you could go now." She suggests lightly.

He frowns. He doesn't want to do that. He enjoys doing silly admin tasks with Clarke, or at least he enjoys them more than he enjoys setting up indoor fireworks with _not_ Clarke. And besides which, he's a guy of integrity. He's not about to let her single-handedly do a task meant for both of them.

Maybe she reads his mind. Or maybe his thoughts are painted too clearly on his face. Either way, she solves the problem as she always does.

"We could both head over to your common room. We can chat about the patrols on the way and then I'll write it out while I'm watching you set fire to yourself."

"I'm not going to set fire to myself." He scoffs.

She quirks an eyebrow at him.

"That was one time." He splutters, annoyed. Seriously, he singed a little piece of eyebrow last year and suddenly she thinks he's a fire hazard?

"I know." She chuckles, patting his arm affectionately. "Come on, Bellamy. Let me make your crappy day a bit better."

He admits defeat, follows her straight out the door they just walked in. He really does hate November fifth, for the record.

No. That's not quite true. It's more that he has strongly mixed feelings about it – it's the day Clarke truly became his friend, as well as the day she turned him down. It's a day for fireworks and celebrations, as well as having far too much to do.

It's a horrible oxymoron of a day, and it unsettles his stomach.

…...

He doesn't set fire to himself – or to anyone else, which he personally thinks is more important. The fireworks get set up, the drinks poured, and in the meantime the prefect team continues to operate more or less smoothly – or at least, Clarke tells him it does, and then she frowns rather fiercely for good measure when he asks if there's anything he can do.

So it is that they come to the part of bonfire night he actually quite likes. The party itself is good – there are fireworks and snacks and drinks, and he remembers this as the part of the day that he and Clarke hit it off, two years ago. It's definitely an improvement on his mortified memories of that morning.

He sets off the first three fireworks, this year. But after that he leaves the fifth and sixth year prefects to take over, remembering all too well how much it meant to him to be given precious responsibilities on this night, when he was younger.

He's scarcely grabbed his first Butterbeer when Clarke clasps her fingers tight around his elbow.

"Come on. I got us a chair." She tells him, and starts dragging him over to their left.

He stifles a grin as they move. Of course she hasn't been idle while he was busy. Of course she's spent her time on making plans.

It turns out she was speaking the truth rather literally when she says she has claimed _a chair_ for them. She's done exactly that – there is one small armchair with her purse and sweater on it, sitting there as if daring the world to move the Head Girl's belongings.

"Have a seat. I can stand." He suggests, as they approach.

She snorts, picks up her purse and sweater. "Sit down. I can perch on your knee."

He can't decide whether to be delighted or horrified by that. Things like this seem to have been happening all the time recently – furniture shared, fleeting touches, Clarke sitting pressed up unnecessarily close against him on the benches when they watched the Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw game last week. He enjoys it, of course he does – he's so happy to know that she's comfortable in his space, given where they started out from, and he likes having an excuse to touch her.

But it's also driving him to distraction.

He summons all his self control, sits calmly on the chair. And then Clarke sits in his lap.

He panics a little. This isn't _perching on his knee_ , not by any stretch of the imagination. She's sitting right in his lap, her back pressed up against his chest. It's a small chair, so he can't see a whole lot of options for where to put his arms other than round her waist.

No. He mustn't do that. He leaves his arms hanging awkwardly at his side instead. He doesn't need an armrest. This is just fine.

"Great fireworks." She comments lightly.

"Mhmm." He agrees, even though he can't really see them. He can mostly see _Clarke_.

"Hey, you OK? I know it's been a long day but you're nearly done now." She reaches out for his hand, squeezes it once, then keeps hold of it as she returns her own hand to her lap. Huh. So not only are they holding hands – he's effectively got his arm round her waist, too.

"Yeah. Just the clean up left to go." He manages to get the words out pretty coherently.

"That won't be too bad. I'll stay and help."

"You don't have to -"

"I want to." She interrupts him. "Now relax and enjoy the party."

He does, as it happens. He enjoys sitting with Clarke in his lap while the fireworks largely pass him by. He enjoys drinking Butterbeer with her, then catching up with a few of his other friends, then once more being cornered by Clarke for a rather overzealous game of exploding snap. And he's a little disappointed she doesn't end up sitting in his lap again, but at least they hang out a lot and high five a lot and hug far more than he thinks can really be strictly necessary.

He's not complaining.

At last, the party is over. The other houses leave, and Bellamy makes some futile attempts to convince Gryffindor to stay.

It doesn't work, of course. They realise he just wants help clearing up, and pretty soon it's only him, the prefects, and Clarke left to put the place to rights. It's not a big job, but it is boring, and it passes quicker with a small team of them doing it than it would if he attempted it alone.

That's why he's confused when Clarke starts ushering the other prefects to bed.

"You can go, Maya. Really. We've got this."

Maya looks unconvinced.

"Go on, Monty. We're fine."

He looks even less convinced. And Clarke looks increasingly _frazzled_ which is a bit weird, really. Clarke is not an easily frazzled person, in Bellamy's experience.

"Really. Please. Just go." She sounds almost desperate now, and he just doesn't understand it. Why is she so keen to get rid of them?

They take her at her word, then. Clearly they do not want to hang around to watch the Head Girl lose the plot, if that is indeed what is happening. They troop out of the room, with only a few curious looks back over their shoulders as they go.

"Clarke?" Bellamy asks, concerned. "Are you OK? Why were you trying to get them to go?"

"Because I'm running out of time." She tells him, glancing frantically at her watch.

"Time?"

"Time to tell you I have a crush on you." She rushes out. "Because It's two minutes to midnight and I don't want to miss my chance. I nearly said it last year but I freaked out and decided I wasn't ready. So I didn't want to miss it this year."

He blinks at her, stunned.

"You have a crush on me?" He repeats carefully.

"Yeah. You know, tell your crush you like them day. I – I like you."

He nods, tries to give the appearance of taking this very seriously. "You know, Clarke – I think you are allowed to say it on other days, too. I don't think this is the only day of the year you can tell someone you have feelings for them."

"Well, no. Because I'd like to be able to tell you it every day after this, if you'll let me. But I thought it would be good to start today because of – because I made such a mess of this day two years ago."

"I've always liked the way you admit your mistakes." He tells her cheerfully, remembering that very conversation.

Clarke doesn't look cheerful, though. She looks nervous, and he can't quite figure out why.

"Clarke?" He prompts softly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry – I thought maybe you still felt the same way. Stupid of me. I shouldn't have presumed that -"

"I feel the same way." He chokes out, cursing himself for not saying so sooner. "I'm sorry. I thought it was obvious."

She laughs, smiling widely. "We're not very good at November fifth, are we?"

He laughs with her, glances down at his watch. It's just gone midnight now, so he figures it's about time to figure out whether they're any good at November _sixth_. He steps forward, cups a hand about the back of her head. And then he kisses her softly on the lips.

She gasps into his mouth, apparently surprised. He's smiling too widely to make it the neatest, most technically perfect kiss of all time. But as long as they're together and showing each other how they feel, he figures that's what really matters.

He pulls away after a while. It doesn't feel nearly long enough, but his watch reveals that it's now been November sixth for a solid five minutes. Huh. Turns out kissing Clarke is a good way to lose track of time.

"Thanks for telling me, two years ago." Clarke whispers against his neck while they hold each other close. "We'd have gone our whole lives never knowing if you hadn't said something that day."

He grins, buries his face in her hair. "I think you're wrong. I think we'd have come together sooner or later."

He's almost disappointed when she doesn't argue back. He still likes arguing with Clarke, but he likes kissing her more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
